Ratchet gets Mooned
by ElitasLove
Summary: Ratchet and Moonracer have loved each other forever but never committed. He's a medic and she a sniper in war time. Now an upset Prime and a revenge prank will bring them together. Then the prank "virus" gets loose among the other Autobots. Movie & G1
1. Chapter 1 Ice Moon

Author's notes: Ratchet is known for two things, he can fix anything and he will let you know about it with a dry wit as legendary as his temper and aim with throwing wrenches. Moonracer is the best sharpshooter femme in the universe, meaning she can offline anything. Bubbly, friendly, and naively optimistic. What will it take to get these two together? A Prime, one revenge prank and a run on the obstacle course. What happens next will take them beyond all imagination.

This fic is for all the Ratchet Moonracer fans out there, even though Optimus and Elita are first up for action. There as to be a reason the normally calm, patient Optimus would get even after all. This is rated "M" for mature with interfacing and spark merges. Reviews are love or areas to fix. Movie verse with G1 mix with Ark at Mt St Hillary. Chapter revised and expanded 01/11/2011.

Internal comm shown by:: talking:: with the name of the bot always on the end to identify and only heard between specific bots.

Cybertronian time is Breem is 8.3 minutes, Joor is 6.5 hours, Orn is 13 days and Vorn is 83 years.

**Chapter One - Ice Moon**

**Why Optimus wanted revenge**

Optimus, last known Autobot Prime and commander of the Autobot earth forces looked skyward and vented softly. The night sky above was clear and sparkling with a thousand pinpoints of starlight surrounding the full moon. "Elita, I miss you," he murmured, feeling an ache in his spark. Thousands of years old, weary of the never-ending civil war, the commander cherished every moment with his spark mate and the current mission had sounded easy enough in the beginning.

"I need you to accompany the resource team off world to the asteroid field. Lead, scout the area and return with the metals needed. Three months human time," he had requested of her. She had accepted and left with Wheeljack and the others. He and the remaining earth based Autobots continued their alliance with the human military NEST command, chasing down and eliminating their Decepticon foes. The new Autobot base at Mt St Hillary took the remaining time, occupying his processors but not his spark. The long dormant volcano and surrounding land preserves, devoid of human inhabitants gave them the perfect area to build and shift from a military secret to protectors of earth.

"By this time tomorrow she and the others will be back. I never thought a short time would seem so long," he rubbed his nose plates, feeling his lack of recharge and waning energy. "Meetings, meetings and conferences. As much as these humans talk, I am surprised they have time to make war on each other. Or continue to demand our technology. Enough harm has been done with it."

The whine of an engine not built in any earth factory reached his audio sensors, defensive systems engaging. The night sounds of a hooting owl and rustling bushes instantly faded. "Ratchet," he identified the chief medical officer immediately by his distinctive power signature, standing down automatic weapons locks. The familiar yellow green hummer vehicle rolled into view, clear in the moonlight.

"Missing Elita?" He greeted, rolling out on to the grassy meadow before transforming upward into his bi-pedal mode.

"I don't intend to miss anything on her," Optimus teased, at ease with one of his oldest and most trusted team members. Deer ambled down to the nearby stream, its running water a soothing sound in the night.

The medic pretended to vent, scaring the deer away before folding his hands over his chest plates. "Ahh, the proud Prime brought down to his knee plates by a rose colored femme."

"The femme commander you refer to is capable of blowing out your knee caps for a comment like that. We are equals on the battlefield and off," he reminded, his blue optics staring down at the shorter mech.

"You can't resist sparking with her for Cybertron's sake! Even now when you should be recharging you're pinning like a spark struck youngling. Admit it, you are captive to her will when she is around," Ratchet snorted, not intimidated.

"We are spark mated and I can resist her, but no reason to," he teased back, moving his lower chassis suggestively.

Ratchet started to comment until the perfect prank formed in his core processor. "You win," he said. "But I want you in med bay in the next breem for a check-up. Been awhile and I want no, how shall we say, misfires in your engines?"

Optimus tapped one footpad, watching his CMO warily before agreeing. He was notorious for avoiding med bay even when injured and did want all systems functional for his mate. He willingly followed the other mech to med bay, slipping into recharge under the medical scans. At the main console, Ratchet completed the last lines of code, transferring the program to his wrist computer. A quick scan verified Optimus deep in recharge and his system guards down for adjustments. A single silver data cable slid out of the medic's wrist and into Optimus neck port, transferring the data then retracting silently.

Returning to the console, Ratchet accessed the medical relay into the other mech's systems and waited. The virus and firewall scanned the program, confirming its authentication and identity before allowing access. Ratchet snickered, watching the program upload itself and transition into Optimus' interface coding. "Ratchet - 1, Optimus - 0. Elita - not my problem," he stated quietly.

"Hey, Prime! Get your lazy aft up," he ordered, thumping a fist on the upper body of the larger mech. 'if you can get anything up that is,' he completed mentally. Optimus optics snapped open, automatically calling his rifle out of subspace and shifting to attack. Seeing med bay and no threat, he grunted, unclenching his fist still trying to wrap around empty air instead of his ion rifle.

"Weapons and subspace pullers are disabled the astro second you roll through those doors remember?" the medic reminded. "Your safety and mine. There are too many holes in the ceiling now."

"Any problems?"

"None, other than your virus protection coding was out of date. I believe you mentioned irresponsibility in not keeping it up to date in a memo last orn. Addressed it to both humans and our troops if I remember correctly. However, I will let it slide this time. Otherwise, firewall and systems integrity normal, all systems functional and on standby." He pointed to the readings on the assembled monitors, knowing the medical codes would not be read or downloaded.

"Good," Optimus gestured then slid off the med bay berth, intent on escaping out the doors. They closed behind him and locked, barely in time for Ratchet to lose it laughing.

In his personal quarters the next morning, Optimus pulled out of recharge, running a quick internal systems review. Satisfied, he digitally accessed the base mainframe, retrieving reports from the night before. Stretching, he sat on the side of his recharge bunk thinking of Elita's rose chassis, the feel of her angular metal shapes.

_Error message 458 - Interface system unable to comply. Appliance offline. _

"Offline? What is offline?" Closing his optics, he accessed his self-repair module and the latest code updates. Furious, he lunged to his feet pads, metal hands clenching in anger. "How dare that medic encode my system. And that system of any! I will reduce him to scrap." His battle systems charged, sliding the energon sword into his waiting hand before he stopped, controlling the anger. Venting deeply, he wrestled for self-control.

"I am a Prime, not a youngling. A prank is a prank. I will simply erase the coding. Elita will never know." Deliberately, he retracted the sword into its subspace housing and disengaged the battle systems.

::Morning Prime. How are we feeling?:: Ratchet opened their internal comm line.

::We? I am functional. And you?:: Optimus asked, keeping his mental tone neutral.

::Busy. The space team returns today and I have a multitude of check-ups scheduled. Very busy except for extreme emergencies like reattaching arms, legs or entire mainframe cores. Anything else will have to wait until tomorrow:: Ratchet

Optimus ground his jaw gears at the smug tone and unspoken implication the coding would remain until he figured out how to remove it.

::I will leave you to your work then: Optimus sent, closing the comm line. Ten breems later, the bunk bore the imprint of his metal fist in two places. The coding not erasable, changeable or alterable to his commands.

"Pit spawned slagger! I can open the crotch plate manually but no activation of the interface rod at all. Fine, interfacing is offline. I know exactly what she likes and where. I will pleasure her into overloading then we will spark merge." He rubbed his armored hands together, a predator's gleam to his optics.

_Error message 213 Chest Slide component disabled. Programming controls offline. _

Optimus grunted, pulling on his chest plates with his massive fingers, arm cables straining. The manual center lock undid, but the panels themselves refused to budge. "I can remove the armor the hard way, strip down to the protoform. Have Elita meet me in our quarters? Ton of work to get this military grade armor off but possible. No, wait an astro second." His optics closed and he focused on the spark spire cover.

_Error message 398 Spark cover engaged. Programming controls offline. Unable to retract. _

The recharge bunk received a third fist imprint. "The spark cover cannot be removed. Ratchet thought of everything!" he snarled. His chronometer beeped, reminding him to meet the approaching ship on the landing pad. Transforming, he rolled out his quarters, nearly running Sideswipe over at the main entrance. The red mech leaped out of the way, staring at the angry sounding Peterbilt truck racing away.

The Cybertronian ship descended, dropping out of the clouds to settle with the barest tap onto the concrete. The ramp lowered and Optimus winced, his desire building even as his physical systems refused to respond. The mechs were walking down the ramp but his optics saw only Elita in the doorway.

Her rose-colored legs connecting to her rounded hip plates and up across her smooth white abdomen and cabling up to her exquisite rose upper body and slender arms. Her neck cables had him venting harder as they flexed with her turning this way and that trying to see over the taller mechs. Then Wheeljack stepped aside and she saw him. His spark nearly burst with the joy that sang between their connected sparks.

Elita jogged down the ramp and up to him, the limp on her right side obvious as he frowned. 'Since when does she limp?' Then forgot everything else as his arms wrapped around her chassis and her frame rested against his.

"Are you functional?" He asked quietly, leaning down to touch her helm with his lip plates.

"I'm tired and missed you," Elita admitted quietly. "What, no heated welcome?" she teased, resting one hand on his crotch plate, her chassis hiding the movement from the other Autobots.

He chuckled, using the sound to hide his frustration as he grabbed her hand."I can wait. And this is public even for us."

"Really, you are waiting?" Elita laughed, pulling back and looking up at him. "No heaving chest, no hot covers, and no quivering lock controls to keep from extending and showing exactly how excited you are to see me?"

"For you, I would wait a thousand orns for a simple caress of my spark's desire," he murmured, his regal baritone soft and husky. Inside, he was practically melting from the accumulated heat without a hope of release. She leaned against him, keeping her weight off her right footpad. Making a decision, he reached down and swung her up into his arms.

"Med bay later, you are mine! All mine!" He leered, turning and carrying her towards their quarters. The other mechs teased them in Cybertronian, long used to their disappearing for privacy.

::I can walk:: Elita reminded even as she relaxed in his arms.

::Not when I am through with you:: Optimus winked an optic.

::Ohhhh, is that a promise?:: Elita

::Yes but tomorrow. You will recharge and heal tonight. What happened?:: Optimus sent, tapping the silver scar welds without shifting his hands enough to jostle her.

"Rock fall. Bad one. Self-repair activated but couldn't replace crushed metal. First Aid did what he could but we lacked replacement parts. Ratchet will ream me for this one," she vented softly then tensed as the arms carrying her tightened. His optics blazed above her, a feeling almost like hate skipping across their spark link before disappearing under a wash of concern and desire.

The doors to their private quarters slid open, Optimus turning to step through sideways. Elita started to push off, expecting to be sat down then vented with excitement as he continued into their private room to lay her on their recharge berth. He stepped back, handing her an energon cube from the shelf.

"Need my energy after all?" she asked, raising her eyebrow plates.

"To heal," he stated firmly, taking the empty cube and placing it back in its holder. Sliding next to her on the recharge bunk, he pulled her against his side then touched her lip plates with his before settling back to rest. His core system was screaming heat warnings as his energon lines filled but his transfluid pump remained offline. Two desperate attempts to break the coding locks failed.

"Optimus," she began, restlessly shifting next to him. "Not even a little interfacing?"

"Nothing is little with me," he teased back, stroking her faceplates with his fingers. Four more override attempts on the coding failed, his interface rod offlined and his chest plates locked.

"Please? I've missed your touch."

Optimus almost broke down and told her about the terrible prank and the locked out parts but did not. His pride held stubborn by the barest coding but held. "You are tired and injured. I will not add to it. However," he grinned mischievously, sliding his hand across her back plates. "A little magnetic pulsing," he tingled her center spine neural cabling. She vented hard, writhing in sensuality as the energy pulse hit her core systems. Her femme port slid open with an audible click and he smirked. The same hand magnetically pulsed her again as the other slipped down towards the port. She gasped as his wide fingers trailed around her outer edge, pressing inward. Moistening, she arched as another magnetic pulse hit.

Optimus waited until her movement slowed, pushing two fingers into her port, coating them in lubricant. "More," she gasped, grabbing his chest plates.

"Hmm, my femme wants more?" He teased, pulling out then pushing three fingers in further, moving them around before withdrawing.

"Quit teasing and interface already!" She commanded, more lubricant seeping from her port. He flexed his hand, reading a strong magnetic pulse. He caressed her lips with his then moved down her neck plating to her cables, biting softly. Releasing his jaw gears from her neck, his fingers thrust rapidly in and out her port.

'Now!' He processed, slamming her neuron cabling with his strongest magnetic pulse. Screaming, she arched, the flexible port closing tight around his fingers in overload. His optics narrowed in pain as his systems surged, unable to release as his spark beat on its casing.

"Ahh, that was… wow," Elita moaned, sagging against his broad chest plates as his fingers massaged her port edge then withdrew. "But you didn't."

"Your pleasure is mine," he ground out, processors thrumming. "Rest, that's an order. Or I will force you into recharge."

"Force? Sounds like more pleasure," her voice drifted off as her optics slid close.

He wiped his sticky hand on the bunk covering, crushing the metal edge in frustration. "Beautiful femme by me all night and nothing. Slagging medic. Probably hasn't been with a femme in so long he's forgotten he even has an interface rod." Then he laughed, a nasty edge to it. In that moment, he sounded more like his brother Megatron as the plan formed. "Ratchet needs to remember what desire feels like. And I have the perfect coding program to achieve that." Optimus stretched out on their bunk, shifting Elita to the crook of his arm.

The next morning he woke her, feeling frustrated and resisting her attempts at seducing him. "Your footpad is still slanted and you need medical care. No arguments, I am Prime and your mate. Tonight I promise to interface your plating off," he said.

Ratchet knocked on the outer room door, interrupting their conversation by sliding it open and smirking. "Enjoy your evening?"

Elita smirked, winking an optic. "Very enjoyable though lug nut here is over protective. Have a program upgrade to tone that down?" She blinked in confusion as Ratchet snickered and Optimus growled.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2 Bright Moon

Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews. Now it's Ratchet's turn to have his coding changed. Other couples will appear in chapters but this fic is centered primarily around Ratchet and Moonracer. The Transformers are not mine in any shape, size or form and are legally copyrighted, trademarked and owned by others. This is for naughty fun and not money, like duh. Chapter edited and expanded 01/11/11.

The chapter names are for the phases of the moon. Ice moon is neopagan for January's full moon. Bright Moon is Celtic for May's moon.

Internal comm are shown by:: talking::

**Chapter Two – Bright Moon**

**Revenge on Ratchet**

Both mechs watched with narrowed optics. Ratchet intent on the delicate rotating parts adjusting for a perfect fit and Optimus watching him as his hands touched Elita. The sedated femme lay on her rose-colored side, foot resting on a padded block as repairs continued. Med bay remained silent, only the clunk of metal parts and tools interrupting the silence.

"The nannites will finish overlaying her rebuilt parts then I can attach the external armor. Normal use immediately though I suspect you will keep her on your berth once she leaves med bay," Ratchet chuckled, his tool extensions transmorphing back to fingers.

"I should offline you right here and now," Optimus growled, the barest trace of red seeping into his optics as he stalked around the medical berth towards the medic.

"Over a prank? Your own law says two spark endangering events happen before you permanently throw a bot into stasis." Ratchet was confident in his own med-bay, the automatic systems disabling all weapons. 'Though I didn't think he'd be this slagged off.' He circled to the side, keeping Elita and the medical berth between them.

"Two events to lock into permanent stasis not disassemble a traitorous mech," he snapped, folding massive blue and red-flamed painted arms across his chest plates. Imposingly tall, the heavily armored warrior radiated his anger without moving.

"Traitorous? Adding lines of programming code is not treason even by human laws. You hurt no one; the coding disabled itself and proved my point. You cannot resist her and don't tell me its passion," he said, controlling the smirk he wanted to show. Disabled weapons would not save parts being torn off.

"You feel no passion or joy towards femmes or little else as far as I can tell," his regal baritone stated.

"Passion? When I am surrounded by death and pain? I repair what I can, replace what I can't and pray to Primus no more offline under my hands!" Ratchet yelled, optics spinning wildly in distress before snapping them shut. His yellow green chassis shook briefly then stilled.

"I'm sorry," Optimus immediately apologized. "I know what you go through."

"I'm tired," he held up his hand, forestalling the apology. "I was busy yesterday and had emergency calls last night. Minor repair on Bluestreak but you know how upset he gets. Ever since his capture he fights any system intrusions, even my repairs. I didn't even lay back down in my own quarters and Sunstreaker's prank backfires bubbling off half the paint on his leg armor."

"Truly a disaster," Optimus joked, moving closer.

"You'd have processed it from the way his twin freaked out on the emergency call to me," Ratchet sagged tiredly before backpedaling, armored hands raised half defensively.

"Easy, you are off the hook for now. However, ever touch my coding for my interface rod or spark sliders and I will turn you over to the Dinobots for a chew toy. Is that understood?" he rumbled menacingly.

"Completely," the CMO agreed.

Two earth weeks later, with the help of Jazz, their resident spy and saboteur, Optimus changed the medical bay computers. The next time Ratchet downloaded reports on the status of his patients, a single patch of coding uploaded into his mech systems. Jazz assumed a harmless setting like changing the color of a bot's armor to purple or black, a common prank of late. Optimus smirked, sending out an alert to all femmes for a practice racecourse run. Naturally, he asked medical staff to attend in case of accidental injury. At the same time, a human budget meeting across two time zones would occupy Prowl, Ironhide, and himself.

Early evening had Ratchet watching the femmes on the race course. "Four dents, three paint mars and five rounds to go. Is this racing or demolition derby?" Wincing, another entry updated on his internal repair list as Elita One and Chromia's alt modes collided, scraping paint and throwing sparks down their sides.

Moonracer slid out of their way on the far turn, smacking into the protective wall before rolling down across the meadow grass. The mountain breeze whisked away what little dust thrown into the air.

Transforming, the sharpshooter femme rubbed at a dent on her lower arm, just above her gun bracing. Her lip plates moved but the swearing too soft for even Ratchet's hearing to discern over the other femmes racing engines. His enhanced optics immediately spun, focusing in, '_negligible damage,_' sensors noting the location and updating the repair lists. Unaware of his watching, she kneeled down in one graceful motion, stretching her armored arms over her head. Then twisting her upper chassis his direction, she reset a loose cable on her back struts.

"Needs a brace to keep that cable from entangling during rapid transform," he murmured. Bending down, Moonracer reached her arms forward, small twitches identifying her spine connections stretching and sliding into place. Then his optics focused on her aft. The squared, angular shape of her dark blue plating overlaying the light blue protoform as it faced his direction. "Perfect size for her leg extensions to connect into. Or anything else," he murmured. His vision darkened then brightened as golden lines of unfamiliar medical code flowed across and disappeared. "What the?" He ran a quick self-diagnostic.

_Core system undamaged - Normal functioning. No upgrades, patches or virus detected. No port intrusions, all systems running at full functionality. _

His crotch plate locks released with a click. Embarrassed, he covered himself with one hand, running a diagnostic on guidance controls.

_No coding errors found - All systems working at full functionality. _

He manually snapped the locks, glad no mech or femme was nearby. Moonracer rose back to her feet pads, brushing off the dust and he felt a tingle inside his middle. Elita One made a comment as she raced by and Moonracer laughed, her chassis bouncing with the amusement. The warmth inside his middle grew and spread as she moved, gesturing in a conversation too far away to overhear. The afternoon breeze swirled around him, rippling across his member.

Horrified, Ratchet snapped his optics down at the full-extended length of his interface rod now visible. His system ignored the immediate command to disengage and return. Attempting to hide it under his hands, he ran a frantic diagnostic and command override. It stayed extended and his cooling system kicked in, trying to adjust. Moonracer turned his way, finally seeing him.

::You available for a quickie touch up?:: Moonracer gestured to her arm dent and he did the unthinkable.

Transforming, he barely suppressed the scream as the transform trapped his extended rod inside his alt form. "That slagging hurt!" he swore, rocking on his wheels. Racing away, he missed the distress on Moonracer's face.

Reaching med bay, he slid inside the doors, transforming and screaming. Venting hard, Ratchet remotely triggered the security locks. Extending his wrist cable connection, he plugged into the medical frame database diagnostic system.

_Program code change. Patch uploaded at 06:00 hours, medical interlocks engaged per line coding. _

"Program uploaded? What code lines?"

The system ran through its computations again, popping up a message display window.

_Program will self-remove after twenty-four hours human time. Enjoy the uplifting experiences, Optimus Prime._

"That thick chipped slagging Prime! I will remove this program and weld his aft to the ceiling for this!"

Three breems later, Ratchet admitted defeat. The program enhancements were not removable, repairable, or changeable and every attempt only excited his system further. Straining, he stumbled forward, leaning against the medical berth. Too ashamed to call for help and too proud to admit defeat and ask Prime for the unlock code he did the only thing he could. One hand gripped his extended rod length while the other braced his weight against the medical berth. He began pulling on it from base to rounded tip. Less than half a breem later he overloaded, spewing transfluid onto the floor before sinking to his knees.

Ratchet hands flattened on the medical berth, tightening into fists. He was disgusted with himself. "First time medic? A third frame youngling just learning control could have lasted longer than that. Enhanced program or not."

::Moonracer to CMO. Are you available for minor repairs?:: Moonracer

::Not now. If minor, please schedule with First Aid for later. I am unavailable:: Ratchet sent back, quickly closing the line as her voice activated a tingling sensation inside his systems. Imposing the same self-control that kept him focused on repairs in the middle of a battle, he kept a repeat from happening, but barely. Sani rags cleaned up the oily mess, removing any evidence.

::Prime to CMO. Femmes are done on the racecourse. Are you available for repairs?:: Optimus

::NO! You pit spawned glitch!:: Ratchet

::Unexpected result?:: Optimus sent, his mental tone smug.

::Results like your next ten physicals and system flushes are going to be very interesting:: Ratchet snarled over their private comm line.

::Looking forward to them under your qualified medical expertise. Keep me informed of any rising situations:: Optimus closed the comm line with a hearty chuckle.

Ratchet considered beating his forehead plate on the berth while slumping down to the floor. "One earth day to survive this. Reschedule all my appointments, transfer emergencies to my assistant First Aid then hide in my personal quarters. Hardest part is transforming and staying in my alt mode. I hate my alt mode but I don't dare see any femmes," he groused, feeling the faintest tingle while thinking about meeting a femme in the hallway. Seeing one would cause the unthinkable.

The trip to his quarters was short and without incident. No other transformers appeared and he steadily disregarded the base areas still under construction, roling around the stacked materials in the half built hallways. Stone walls disappeared behind metal plating, both comforting as a reminder of their home and disheartening it only hid the alienness of the earth to their optics. Remotely triggering his door locks, Ratchet rolled to a stop inside, transforming and sliding the door closed. A few steps before flopping face down on the recharge bunk, he rested his hands on his helm and resisted the urge to whimper.

'Bested by a red and blue joker of a Prime. Moreover, in a publicly degrading way. Our pranks are between us, not for the whole world to see. Except when I painted him pink and added the shifting flower holograms. Okay, maybe deactivating his systems with Elita One returning from a long term scouting mission was a bit much but he could have returned the favor. Instead of boosting it a thousand slagging times!'

A knock on his outer door distracted him. "Who is it?" he asked, sliding off the bunk.

"Moonracer. Can I come in?"

"No! I am busy. Call First Aid!" he shouted feeling his systems engaging. To his horror, the outer door began to slide open, her blue armored hand on the edge. He spun, facing the bunk as though working on it. "Please leave. I am unavailable."

"Why?" she asked softly, entering. "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" her tone was light and danced across his audio sensors.

"No, it's not you. I am… not functioning completely," he admitted, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Do you need medical attention?" Moonracer asked, stepping inside the second room. His optics spun, the very sight of her slim chassis engaging his interface rod response. It extended fully and remained out despite dozens of rapid commands to disengage and return.

"I need to be left alone," he gripped the bunk edge, lowering his optics in shame. "Please leave Moonracer. I will explain later but," he hesitated, the barest quaver showing in his vocal tones. "I need you to leave."

"You can't even face me and tell me to get out!" she growled, grabbing him and spinning him around. Unprepared, he flailed his arms for balance and steadied against her arm plates. Optics wide, she was staring, no gaping down at him.

"I won't… that is…I want…" He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue, his desire showing. He waited for her screams, her rifle blast, and her angry voice telling him to go frag himself and never approach her again. Instead, she curved her lip plates into a smile.

"Is this the reason?" she stepped back away from him, gesturing.

"Yes," he admitted.

"You want me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He challenged softly, the bitterness of his tone surprising even him.

"All you had to do was ask," she stated, matching optic to optic. Grinning, she stepped forward, bracing on his shoulder plates and pushed. He stumbled backwards, bumping against the recharge bunk. Trying to get away from her, he hopped onto the bunk. The door slid back shut, the locks engaging as she raised her hand. "Privacy if you don't mind." Without warning, she jumped for the bunk, swinging her leg up and over him, knocking him flat on his back plates.

"Are you?" he asked, cooling system failing as his spark rattled in his chest. She straddled him at his hip plates, bracing her hands on his heavily armored chest. A click signaled her port opening.

"I want what you want," she stated firmly, leaning down face plates to face plates.

'Optimus offline and his aft on a platter?' he thought then stopped processing as their lip plates touched. Arching up, he rubbed against her. She responded, pressing her lower chassis down against his. He could hear and feel the vibration of her systems revving with his interface rod trembling with building pressure.

Moonracer removed her armored hands off his chest plates, leaning way back to push her hips forward to show him her femme port was open and glossy with lubricating fluids. He gasped, clinical professionalism going out the window at the sight. Sitting up, his yellow green hands clenched her forearm plates, pulling her down.

"I...please..." He began when her armored hand covered his lip plates. Wordlessly, she slid her legs out further, her valve sliding down his length until they hilted. Plunged deep inside her, Ratchet's systems revved hotter, his blue optics deepening to near purple with lust. Then they began moving in rhythm.

Pure ecstasy flooded his systems as they peaked together, the overload hitting his processors hard, optics offlining. They came online to the ceiling above, Moonracer alongside between him and the back wall. Her optics focused on his.

She mewled softly, cuddling across his broad chest. "You overloaded fast. Wow, I loved that," she practically purred to his utter shock.

"What… why?" he stuttered.

She leaned up on one elbow plate, her soft glimmering optics focusing on his. "Most mechs take slagging forever, bruise the protoform, and scrape the armor. Know why?"

"Make the pleasure last?"

She barked a short tight laugh. "Pleasure? To be hurt and pounded? Not to any femme I know!" she vented hard. "Truth is it's a process to them. A little grabbing, some rough groping then continual pounding until overload which takes awhile because they are not thinking of you as anything but a stress relief. Why do you think we femmes have our own quarters and refuse so many requests for our company? Spark mated pairs get excited by a single thought and can overload anywhere at anytime."

"I know. I am chief medical officer," Ratchet reminded, daring to trail one armored finger lightly down her cheek plates and onto her throat cables. She leaned into the caress, tracing circles on his chest plates with her hand.

"Your reaction," she laughed, "was strong and fast. All for me."

"True," he acknowledged, cupping her chin plates with his hand. He caressed down her front and onto her middle amour, and then pulled back as the feel of her smooth metal began charging his systems rapidly.

"Oh frag," he moaned.

"Hmm, what did you say?" she leaned down as his swelling rod tapped her leg. "You want more? Already?" She asked, shifting up on her side against the wall, her face plates showing no expression.

"I… understand if you don't want to…" he trailed off, ready to offline from embarrassment. The touch of her hands on his chest focused him as she leaned in very close.

"You drive this time. I understand," Moonracer smirked, tugging him up and over her. He vented, relieved at her reaction and feeling the pressure of his system building again. Ratchet nuzzled her, his hands leaving feather light caresses across her upper chassis before moving lower. He slid a finger in her valve, feeling her warm lubricant spreading. He pumped her a few times before withdrawing.

His larger hips slid across hers, his chassis sinking lower as Moonracer clung to him. Writhing, she surprised him by thrusting up and against him, spread wide. Venting, he plunged into her valve full hilt then set a fast pace.

They overloaded together, resting until Moonracer's caress across his mid plates triggered his hyperactive system again. Repeatedly, they enjoyed each other only interfacing, resting in between as evening became night. Then shifting to grab a cleaning rag, she leaned close to his chest casing, her spark thrumming. Nearing exhaustion from breems of activity without true recharge, the last safety lock on his system disengaged to pull more energon. Ratchet's spark pulsed outward, triggering the chest panels to slide open. Hers matched. The resulting spark merge had them both screaming and going temporarily offline.

A steady beeping dragged Ratchet out of recharge. The unfamiliar weight on his side and chest snapped him into true consciousness. "Moonracer," he whispered her name, feeling his spark sing in its casing. The lightest touch of his shaking armored hand confirmed she was real. Her spark sang back to his, muted but a solid presence to his processors. Venting rapidly, he nearly stasis locked as the new coding to his system scrolled by his medical sensors.

"Oh my blessed Primus. We are spark mated. She is the one. My equal," he whispered in terror and delight. His entire system had realigned to the frequency they now shared. He could feel her living presence wrapped around his own even as her chassis lay on his.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3 Hunter's Moon

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. This chapter updated and expanded 01/11/2010. Hunter's Moon is from Colonial America for the full moon in October. And remember, if you don't know who the e-mail is from, don't open it! It could contain a virus with unexpected consequences. Same for program uploads. Thank you from the Autobot security staff.

**Chapter Three - Hunter's Moon**

**The First Day of Happily Ever After**

Moonracer's optics snapped open, automatically looking for a target as her battle systems went into standby, registering only Ratchet's energy signature nearby. The sight of his yellow green armor brought made her smile even as various minor damage reports from her medical unit began scrolling past her optics. A single line of updated coding flashed by, the medical reference unknown and ignored. Their passionate evening and most the night left her blissful, and banged up across her protoform. The feel of the medic's strong grip across her exposed mid plates and the solidness of his frame reassuring as she nudged him awake.

"Please state the nature of the emergency," his optics flashed open.

Giggling, the femme rapped dead center between his optics with her closed fist. "No more space TV shows for you. I need to get up." Her other hand moved to wrap her fingers in between his least he misunderstand.

"That's my line," he teased back, nipping playfully at her neck cabling.

"If I stay here, I want your medical services."

"Moonie, you can have all of me you want, medical included." Ratchet promised, continuing to move his lip plates down her arm. The coding upload from Optimus had long eased from his systems, now the mech enjoyed the feel of his sparkmate. Her metal smooth and warm as his sensitive fingers caressed it. No broken edges, no charred fragments from battle rippled under his delicate movements.

"Ugh! Stop. I have to have repairs before you go one more inch lower," Moonracer complained, shifting her weight against him did nothing, his mass too solid to move though both arms pinning Ratchet's arm down got his attention.

"Fine then. Interrupt my foreplay," he good naturedly grumbled, swinging his entire chassis up and over her form to stand by the berth. He stretched both arms straight up, realigning a shoulder gear. The fact his mechly parts, though limp and covered with her lubricant and his trans fluid stains, remained at optic level for her reclining on the berth didn't escape Moonracer's notice. The pain sensors across her protoform pounded louder than the start of her need to have him. He glanced down, lingering across her inner chest plates before his multi layer optics narrowed, identifying damage.

"Why didn't you say something," his hands hovered over her spark cover assessing the extent of the damage.

"I did. As in I want your medical services," she reminded, feeling his feather light touch tracing her separation seam.

"Gear is stripped and the power unit blown. I carry spares for those, you are the standard configuration," Ratchet said, beginning to remove parts out of subspace.

Moonracer waited, watching as the pile began accumulating on the floor. "What is all this?"

"Items I hide in subspace to keep them away from the others". Ratchet stated, shifting sideways as the pile wobbled, the top pieces bouncing down near his feet pads. "As a medic, my pullers are larger."

"I'll say," she smirked, careful to not rub her leg plating together. She did note that not one femme related item appeared other than standard repair parts.

"I tend to acquire everything from half built parts to confiscated power cores. Wheeljack and First Aid have a bad habit of grabbing items out they might or think they can process to use. Once the storeroom is built and a door installed I can dump them there to properly inventory. Found the parts, about time. Course, we'll have to test them out," he smiled then leaned in close, very close to her faceplates.

She vented, seeing the switch from medic to mech. His optics began darkening to purple with desire as his hands started unsnapping her spark catches.

**MED BAY**

Optimus strode into med bay, the smirk on his silver faceplates visible with his battle mask pieces retracted into the helm sides. Normally the last mech to appear in med bay unless dragged in for repairs; his large stride had a bounce to it as he moved to the center of Ratchet's personal domain. "Ahh, the triple chime announcing there is some bot in med bay is like sweet music this morning," he processed, venting deeply. He stood feet pads wide apart, white square armored hips powerfully locked and his upper chassis proudly forward, arms back to show off his massive cables and large struts.

"Good morning Prime. How may I be of assistance?" First Aid stepped into view, appearing out of the office normally occupied by Ratchet. The smaller mech's red and white armor spotless and in working order as expected. His blue optics spun, lightly scanning the ancient Prime without intruding on any sensitive systems.

"No emergency. Is our CMO available for a quick consult?" Optimus smirk faded, realizing the medic's energy signature was not present nor a residual trace if he had been there in the last joor.

"He's taking personal leave time. Left me in charge unless the situation requires his expertise," the assistant answered.

"I'll comm him with a request to update the supply request before the next staff meeting. No hurry," Optimus reassured. The walk back to his working office on the upper lever added to his tension. "Is he still mad at me? Did I go too far?" Digitally, Optimus accessed the emergency system, tracing Ratchet's signal to his personal quarters. The same location he had retreated to after the angry comm call the day before.

"Still online and functional if secluded. Is he planning another payback? What will I find in my office?" Optimus wondered, pausing with his armored hand before the door keypad. As Chief Medical Officer, the other's intelligence and mechanical ability made him a force to be reckoned with.

"Hey boss bot!" the cheerful vocal sounding behind him nearly sent Optimus jumping out of his armor.

"Jazz! Don't sneak up on me," he grumbled, standing down his weapon locks. His armored fingers unclenched, the command to stop the ion rifle from appearing out of subspace barely in time.

"That's why I get the big credits. Best spy here. Be a shame to waste all that talent when you wanted to see me, or rather didn't," Jazz kidded.

"The program we downloaded the other day. Any problems attached to it? Broken lines of code? Incomplete data marks? Anything unusual that might slip past our processor checker?" Optimus asked, his vocal tone nonchalant as his worry deepened.

"Nope. Seemed normal, let me run it by the security systems," the spy led the way into Prime's office, sliding the desk chair out and sitting on it. His smaller white and black frame barely filled the seat even as his feet pads dangled well above the floor. Quick taps of his armored fingers across the main datapad brought the program up. Jazz scanned the first lines, his hand resting at the bottom of the screen, hiding the bar moving left to right showing the copy transmitting to his personal data core. Finishing, the data load bar faded out before Jazz spun the datapad monitor around for the other's benefit. "Want me to debug it or try it out myself?"

"No! I will review it personally. No need to concern yourself Jazz. And I have a scheduled planning session with Prowl," Optimus stalled, wanting to go over the program codes in depth later. His large armored hand closed the datapad, as his helm tilted towards the door. The gesture an obvious unspoken order to leave.

"Don't stay cooped up too long. Femmes doing another practice run against the scouts on the obstacle course this afternoon. Betting favors Chromia offing Bumblebee and Hound first round," Jazz waved, leaving.

Optimus nodded, gathering up datapads for the meeting and left, engaging the external door locks. The ones that kept others out but allowed any bot inside to leave as they chose. No reason to set those, he had personally watched Jazz leave. Seconds later, Mirage appeared out of the air beside the large metal desk, his blue and silver chassis shimmering into full existence as his cloaking field disengaged. "Program? I wonder if this is the target Ironhide mentioned for our stealth games next week? Burn a copy and upload it."

That afternoon, Ratchet still had not appeared either personally or professionally. Both minor medical emergencies onboard the new Ark base answered by First Aid and Optimus. The ancient Prime using the excuse to check on situations in person to better know his own staff. His worry shifted to concern as the hours passed.

:: Have you seen Moonracer?:: Optimus sent to Elita alone. The blue armored femme would have given him a clue to anything Ratchet was planning by her comments. Or if she drew her blaster and threatened to shoot the ancient Prime. However, she hadn't appeared either. Not a good sign.

:: No, she traded shifts with Firestar. Why? Is there a problem?:: Elita answered, her mental tone curious.

:: Verifying schedules before Prowl brings it up as an issue:: Optimus answered, closing the comm line. 'He's still in his quarters. I will wait until tomorrow morning. If Ratchet hasn't appeared by then I am rousting his aft out, no matter how many wrenches he throws.'

Inside the medic's private quarters, Ratchet shifted his arm tighter around his mate, savoring the feel of her armor. Or rather the lack of. Both stripped nearly down to the protoform, his armor colors contrasting with her pieces strewn about the floor of his recharge room. The scattered parts pulled out of subspace made the mess worse. Neither cared.

Ratchet's spark pulsed to a different frequency, flagged by his internal medical systems. "Spark mate. Merged but for a moment, the change will last forever," he quoted, his lip plates running down her neck cables. Sheepishly he traced indentations left in her lines from his earlier excitement. Ratchet added a repair notation to replace the line, more to hide his marks than any threat of the line failing at that weak point.

"Go away, I'm in recharge. Need time to heal from repairs," Moonracer murmured.

"If you can vocalize, you're not in recharge but right where I want you."

"Which is?" One blue optic unshuttered to focus on him.

"In my grip," he chuckled, his hands stroking down the side of her faceplates before continuing across her upper front.

"Can you grip a repair tool? My valve edging throbs," she admitted, opening both optics as he shifted from mech to medic.

"Hold still, let me check," Ratchet shifted on the recharge berth, moving lower to scan for damage. She giggled, seeing his green yellow helm between her legs before venting as the pain disappeared almost immediately.

"Repair coding to suppress the neural signals while I get the cooling gel. You definitely need straightening of your rim plates," he said.

"It's because of your straightening rod I need repairs," Moonracer joked, feeling tight cables ease and pain relays going quiet.

"Slag it! I am out of gel. Not an item I usually carry on my shell," Ratchet admitted sheepishly.

"I can requisition a tube from the medical supply," she began.

"Absolutely not!" he leaned over her, his arms on both sides of her upper chassis. His strong presence held her in place more than his physical touch. "I will not have you suffering or be seen in public looking like this. Bent plates and covered in more trans fluids and purple lubricant than mini bots can produce."

"Really? I thought about sending Elita a picture and saying hah! My mate is better," she teased.

"Only if you copy it to Optimus at the same time," Ratchet joked.

"Can we wait until after the next shift change?"

"Why?"

"Firestar will be done with her lab work. I don't want her knowing I traded duty shifts to be fragged into ecstasy," Moonracer admitted.

"Ecstasy huh? Have to work harder on that and frag you senseless," Ratchet promised.

**MAIN RESEARCH LAB**

**DECK FIVE**

Firestar rubbed at her left optic tiredly, straightening the outer rim ring yet again. "What was I processing agreeing to this trade?" Her orange armored hand descended, attaching the label onto the last glass test tube before slotting it into the holding rack with the other tubes.

Her right hand tapped the datapad keys, updating the specimen lists and results. "Nothing to do but wait, wait and more waiting. Fourth of a joor before the next set finishes. How many times do we have to test the soil around here to prove the Ark is non-pollutant? Stupid humans worry we might contaminate this area when their cars leave worse pollution vapors to drive out and get our results."

A touch drifting down her cheek plate causing her to drop the label pen. "Who?" went unanswered as an unseen touch ghosted over her front chest armor.

"How long?" Mirage whispered in her audio.

"For?" she barely stammered out, feeling his invisible hands moving, tracing down her most sensitive back neuron junctions. Her chassis arched into the touch, awakening long dormant pleasure programs.

"How long since you were loved like you deserve?"

"What has gotten into you?" Firestar shivered as her spark beat against her casing, the energon flowing in her lines as her valve moistened.

"Question is gentle femme, will I be in you?"

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4 Budding Moon

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. Gave me ideas worked in here including Optimus crashes (in his own way), Ratchet's descriptions, and a small surprise. Thanks to fantasyaddict101 for working out fic ideas. WARNING: This is M for mature. Strong personal discussion between medic and his femme. A breem is about eight minutes.

Budding moon is the spring full moon, named for spring flowers just before blooming.

**Chapter Four – Budding Moon**

**Start with one prank; add a femme, mix in a medic and instant family**

"I believe your exact words were frag me senseless," Moonracer reminded. The sharpshooter femme pulled the recharge cover, crumpling it into a ball the moment the far corner freed off the berth. Turning slowly, she chucked it precisely into the cleaner bin on top of their damp towels and cleanser cloths from the wash racks. As a command officer, Ratchet's quarters had the adjoining set-up, allowing them privacy to get clean.

"Humph. You can be rendered senseless without fragging," Ratchet said, trailing skilled fingers of his over and around a sensitive gear in her wrist.

"Despite all your snarky remarks, hot temper, and general carry on, you are one hot mech on the recharge berth," she admitted, taking the clean cover out of his other hand before snapping it out over the berth.

"Translated I am mature, smart as pit and know exactly what I am doing. As chief medic, I have seen and heard nearly every technique or repaired the ones that failed. Not an area I ever expected to master when starting medical training. Oh, every mech learns and develops their own pattern. Optimus, our one and only Prime loves to take his time, sending the femme crashing into overload with foreplay alone. And more than once if he can, before interfacing," he said, watching Moonracer move. Not as a lover or in lust but as a medic confirming her recent repairs.

"Who cares as long as you are warm and stretched? And is he really that big?" Hopping onto the berth, she missed his frown of concern while stretching out to rest. The continued fluctuation in her energy field made no sense.

"Yes he is and no, that's not the reason. Dominance issue. I am the big strong mech that can control myself while you scream and writhe into overload. Ironhide is even more primitive." His voice deepened to Ironhide's bass. "Spread them legs while I mount and hump you like a rabid cyber wolf. Femme on all fours or against the wall or anywhere I can hump you."

Giggling, Moonracer didn't argue, hearing Chromia's side more than once. Worse, hearing them through the wall as the femme warrior often bunked near the other femmes. Turning onto her front plates, she stretched out one arm to rest on like a pillow before relaxing even more. Her blue protoform contrasting with the red cover."If you are going to stand there, you might want to pick up the mess you left on the floor. Make yourself useful."

"Useful? You have no idea what I can do," he smiled, moving to stand in the doorway to the main room. Sliding his hand through the air, he started above his head moving it gently side to side until he reached hip height. The smile became a smirk as she gasped, grabbing at her own protoform.

Echoes of his touch faded from her frame, the reaction undeniable. "Are you residual linked into my systems? That is illegal! Immoral and...oh...oh...ohhhhhhh."

"Are we getting warmer?" Ratchet already knew the answer, even without his enhanced optics providing thermal readings. His fingers wiggled, transmitting the motion to her inner rim.

"How?" Moonracer protested, shifting to lean against the wall, feet pads tucked under her.

"Medical knowledge and marathon love making. You have enough of my trans fluid in your systems for an orn. Trans fluid has two purposes. The first is to power a femme with the extra energy to facilitate her spark for creating a sparkling essence. Second, it's drawn into your holding tank and adapted into your main fuel cell energon," Ratchet automatically began teaching.

"I know that, medical training when we first met remember?"

"Remember my coding is literally flowing in your lines. As a medic, I need to access any system at any time. And we have spark merged. I can feel your presence in my spark as our systems pulse identically. I merely used my knowledge to take advantage of those facts."

"That is sneaky. What else can you do?" she asked.

"Any other mech would be offlined on the floor, limp and drained," he stopped, venting lightly at her snickering. "That too. I have redundant power coils and faster resets as a medic. Yet here I am, wavering on my feet pads but upright while my femme is charged and glowing from my skillful ministrations."

"Glowing?"

"You are so beautiful," Ratchet moved to her side, leaning against berth edge to cup her faceplates in both hands.

"Will you still feel that way tomorrow?" Moonracer challenged, closing her optics to savor the feel of his metal on hers.

"To the matrix and beyond. You are my sparkmate," he rested his hand over her chest.

"You want me to?" Her optical cores spun fully, the living blue nearly eclipsing the silver spinners. Hope soared within her, the flowing energon in her lines thudding across her processors.

"You already are. I will prove it. Open your spark to me," his lip plates caressed hers gently before moving down to kiss over her spark. A soft magnetic pulse and the seam opened as the plates slide to the side.

"See? Your spark is pulsing..." He froze, his optics going wide at the tiny ball of light moving into view. Internally diagnostic systems screamed with codes, identifying it. Processor wise he felt like the entire room had dropped out from under his feet pads. Dazedly, the medic linked into the command schedule, listing himself off duty for the next week. Unseen, a small alert triggered elsewhere on the Ark.

::Ratchet, can I talk to you?:: Optimus sent, his entire frame still in his office chair. The schedule change blinked in the corner of his main monitor, the off duty notation worrying him even as it reassured him Ratchet remained online and functional.

:: I am going to be... with Moonracer:: Ratchet began, the mental tone agitated as his words ran together. Gently he closed her protective plating, kissing her again before plotting the fastest and safest path to med bay.

:: That is good news. I approve of your relationship with her:: Optimus offered, hoping to forestall the temper explosion he expected.

:: No, I'm a... sparkling:: Ratchet sent, pausing to scoop Moonracer up into his arms. The femme smiled, not sure of what was happening but trusting him.

:: Is that an apology for changing my coding?:: Optimus stood, heading out of his office.

::No, we made...Moonracer...a spark merge...and:: Ratchet's mental tone faded in and out as he called ahead to med bay, triggering equipment and paging both Wheeljack and First Aid to med bay.

::I don't need to know that:: Optimus sent back cautiously, tracking the medic's moving signal.

:: Father prank!:: Ratchet stated, as though the words solved everything.

Optimus winced, feeling an astro second of panic as he waited by the elevator. They needed their chief medic, almost as much as they needed him as Prime. ''What have I done? I have never heard him erratic like this. Not even on the battlefield or overcharged. Do not panic, there has to be a solution. We can strip the program from his system, and reset his processors. Medics have double backups of everything.'

:: Moving around her spark! Mine!:: Ratchet added, riding in the other elevator as it ascended to the medical floor.

:: I do not need details, I have my own femme. Can you meet me in med bay?:: Optimus offered, surprised at the sheer strength of the answer back.

:: YES! Rolling now!:: Ratchet sent, intent on reaching his domain with his sparkmate. His equipment, his tools could confirm what he could barely believe. Intent on the goal, his systems never registered the large moving mass approaching from the other hallway. All he saw was the double doors to med bay opened, his assistant stepping out.

KAWHAM!

First Aid blinked, optics clearing from the flash of colors and slamming metal. Colliding, both mechs tried protecting the femme instinctively. Ratchet lifting Moonracer higher, nearly throwing her into the air, the ancient Prime trying to duck under and twist to catch her. In the end, Ratchet went crumpling backwards, warnings flashing as Optimus slammed shoulder first into his chassis only half turned. More alert and energized, she merely twisted to land on top of them both.

Laughing, Moonracer sat on Optimus' legs, patting his aft with both hands. "Always wanted to do that," she chuckled, sliding off to stand near the wall.

"Most femmes do," Optimus murmured, his faceplates heating with embarrassment as he shifted off Ratchet. Stepping back, he crouched lower, hands ready. If Ratchet went berserk, he would protect the femme. Then throw the malfunctioning medic through the med bay doors, locking down his weapons with its designed protections.

Without his customary battle armor, slamming into the floor rattled Ratchet, Optimus mass adding to the force. Moonracer was his first processing, sitting up to look for her. He ignored the warnings flashing across his vision, not waiting for his compensators to reset before standing. Then the world went black as the floor slammed into him.

MEDICAL BAY  
A BREEM LATER

Ratchet's helm rolled to the side, noting Red Alert, Mirage and Prowl laid out on the medical berths. No char marks, obvious battle damage or injuries marred their reclining forms. The scanners on the side tables refused to answer his data requests. He remembered needing to reach med bay with Moonracer then what? And why was he down? Who the slag had been messing with his patients?

"What happened to them? How long was I out? Where is Moonracer?" He asked, his tone cranky.

"Here, and third question, not too far down the priority list," she greeted him, her armored fingers inter clasping his.

"Where is the rest of your armor?"

"Your quarters," she gently reminded.

"They're our quarters now. And about to get more full," he sat up gingerly, systems slowly returning online.

"We collided," Optimus admitted sheepishly, standing to the left of the medical berth.

"Explains the neuron ache. Did you also run over them?" He pointed at the other patients.

"System quarantine, confirmed transmittable by direct link in one instance, affecting only the mechs. I suspect Mirage as the primary carrier, possible cause a Deception code dormant in his systems. Implanted without his knowledge on a mission," First Aid explained.

"Not likely. Of all the scouts, he is the most conscious of post mission decontamination, especially after the Insecticon incident," Ratchet reached out, intertwining his fingers with Moonracer's fingers.

"Nevertheless, he fired at Hoist when entering the research lab, shouting 'mine!' and 'stay away' indicating knowledge of being compromised before the doors closed. Hoist called Red Alert to help subdue him after talking to Flareup. She checked out functional if exhausted," First Aid deliberately omitted she and Mirage interfacing once he determined it was consensual and she was unaffected.

"Where did Hound blast him?" He wanted to confirm Moonracer carrying, but three damaged mechs took priority. Once the room quit moving and heaving under him.

"Red Alert is not injured, not physically. I stasis locked him. After cuffing him, Red Alert accessed Mirage's wrist data link to determine if med bay or the brig was appropriate," he explained.

"That thick chipped slagger! Leave medical diagnosis to us, we're trained for it," Ratchet grumbled, tempted to throw a wrench at the other's red and white inert form then passed. More fun when the target was moving. And yelled when hit.

"The virus transferred at that time but didn't activate until later. He ordered Mirage to med bay, also ordering Hoist to meet at his office to file the after report. He never showed and Hoist called Prowl once I determined an unknown program addition in Mirage's systems," his assistant concluded.

"Where did Red Alert blast Prowl then?" Optimus asked.

"He didn't. He and the femme Discharge, the new arrival from Cybertron," he began.

"I know who she is. Smart femme with a terrible earth designation. Makes me wonder what else she will pick that is questionable," Ratchet snapped.

"Red Alert. They were...that is..." the medical assistant's faceplate heated, remembering the retrieved image from Prowl's processor. The presence of Prime and a femme in the room only made his embarrassment worse.

"Well?" Ratchet snapped.

"Coupling in a unique manner that triggered Prowl's logic glitch when the outer door opened and he saw them," he finished.

"They were what?" Moonracer repeated, giggling.

Wordlessly the assistant sent the image to his comm signal, letting him open it. Ratchet's blue optics widened. "Oh my Primus! He's going to need a neuron spine replacement twisting up under her that way on that chair. How did they even process that with him half on the floor and her sitting and them doing that!"

"Remember the gag gift from the human Sam? The present to Bumblebee that the twins ended up with?" Optimus voiced first, his cooling fans running faster. As Prime, he knew of any and all problems on the Ark, including thefts.

"Vaguely, I am not into human books," Ratchet admitted.

"It wasn't a book. It was a daily page by page calendar. 365 sex positions for humans and that is why it was confiscated it from the twins who stole it from Bumblebee. It was suppose to be locked in Prowl's safe to be destroyed. Obviously Red Alert read it before turning it in," he said, scratching at the side of his helm.

Ratchet covered his optics with his hands, promising himself to personally deal with Sam his next physical. "Remind me to never let humans near our sparkling."

"What sparkling?" three voices repeated but only one mattered. Hers.

"Our sparkling Moonie. The one you are now carrying," Ratchet's optics locked with hers, the smile blooming across her faceplates enhancing her beauty.

_To be continued..._


End file.
